Bullets
About a month and a half had passed since she'd finally – finally – gotten permission to do fieldwork, and yet the only time she had left the Zürich was to give Commander Bianchi a checkup a few weeks ago. While it hadn't quite been a promise, she had told Gabriel that she would have him at her back when she went into the field, and she meant to stand by that.
He'd gone out on a mission nearly a month ago now. She had planned to join his team – until she realized how long they were to be gone for. So, she sent Remington instead to go to America instead. She had no idea what they were doing – still, she wasn't given quite that kind of authority, but she was working on it – but it must be serious to rate a Commander to be gone for so long.
At least, while he was gone, she'd had one less nursemaid to tear her from her work.
That didn't mean she wasn't glad to hear they would be coming back very soon – within the next day or so. She'd check with Remington once they were back to make sure there were no medical issues she needed to be aware of, so that checks could be done and rosters could be updated appropriately.
She hadn't spent the time idle, even if she was rather put out about not using the field clearance she had worked so hard to obtain. She was working on expanding on biotic limbs, specifically how much of a body could be replaced. It was all theoretical for now – partially because she didn't want to bring it to the others without a solid plan and partially because she was not looking forward to what would be needed to test it.
They had been gone almost exactly a month when Gabriel and his team returned to Zürich base.
She was speaking to Gloria, finishing up her daily round (assuming no emergencies arose), when Gabriel and two men made their way into the infirmary. Remington hadn't called ahead with any injuries that would need to be reviewed or tended to – and he was usually very good at keeping her apprised – so she had no idea what was going on, especially when the more unfamiliar of the men was handcuffed roughly to an infirmary bed.
She was already moving across the room when Gabriel cut her off and pulled her to the side.
"What in the world is going on?" She demanded, voice quiet, as Gloria joined them. In nearly a year of service, she'd never had anyone handcuffed in her infirmary. Angela wasn't a fool; she knew they housed prisoners somewhere, even if temporary, but she was certain it wasn't in Zürich base. She made a mental note to find out where, because there were certainly medical needs that needed to be met, but right now that wasn't important.
"Found a new recruit. I was hoping you could give him a checkup." Gabriel explained. Angela looked again at the man – yes, there was still a handcuff on his right wrist – and then back to Gabriel.
"And he needs restraints because he's such a good recruit, of course." She retorted. Normal recruits came in, without fanfare or handcuffs, were seen by a doctor and then sent on their way to wait for the results. It was more than obvious that this man wasn't a usual recruit, but a prisoner? Really?
"Only the best for Overwatch." He agreed, and she just looked at him. "Seriously, doc, he's fine. Really. The handcuff is just a precaution."
"The guard is too, I suppose?" Of course, she'd had guards – acting as guards and not as patients – in the infirmary before, but usually that was when someone high ranking was in recovery. This stranger was clearly not high ranking.
"Yes, the guard too." His tone was almost too patient.
"Fine." She huffed. "You want a full workup then? Physical and psychological?" Gabriel nodded, and Angela glanced briefly to the doctor at her side. "Gloria, please go get the proper forms and instruments." The woman walked away briskly. "Anything specific I should be looking for?"
"Not that I know of, but I'm no doctor." She certainly was aware of that.
"What's his name, then? I can get started while Gloria's putting things together for me." She might as well do it since she was here. Besides, she wasn't going to put her staff into possible danger because Gabriel thought it was 'fine'.
"Jesse McCree." Angela nodded, and then off she went to her newest patient. The guard at the foot of the bed glanced at her, but neither spoke to the other as she turned to the man reclining lazily on the bed.
"Mr. McCree, is it?" She asked, like Gabriel hadn't just told her his name.
"Just McCree, if y'don't mind, ma'am." He corrected politely, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side to address her. If the handcuff bothered him at all he didn't show it.
"McCree, then. My name is Angela Ziegler. I'm going to be your doctor today." He looked surprised that she was a doctor – her youth once again betraying her – but, unlike other patients in her past, didn't make any kind of comment. She wasn't sure if that was out of respectfulness or because of the guard; Gabriel had wandered off somewhere when she'd had her back turned, which she believed was a testament to how certain he was that the McCree wasn't a danger.
"Let's begin, shall we?"
It was sometime later that they were finished. Numerous questions – height, weight, smoking, drinking, heart problems, et cetera et cetera. She got all up close and personal: drawing blood, checking his eyes and ears, listening to various organs with a stethoscope, the works. The most uncomfortable parts, the ones that required him stripping down, were done behind the privacy of a screen and without the handcuff.
Even she would admit that most people wouldn't want to get into a fight in their underwear – or naked – so she wasn't particularly worried.
He passed the physical with flying colors – which wasn't determined for an hour or two for various lab tests – despite some smoking and drinking, he was in perfect health. Whether that was true of his mental state as well was yet to be seen.
"I'll get him scheduled with Dr. Port. It probably won't be until tomorrow." She told Gabriel via her communicator as she walked back to her office. "I'm willing to bet he's still in meetings with your strike team." Everyone – even her, even the Commanders – had to go through a meeting with the psychologist after a mission. Sometimes it was a short meeting, sometimes it was long, sometimes there was one meeting, and sometimes there were multiple; they never were sure until they got there. Until Dr. Port – or one of his team – cleared a person for duty, not even she could put them in the field. She might be his boss, but she deferred to his knowledge on such things.
She was surprised that he had cleared her for missions, considering her own traumas she dealt with.
"How long is he going to have a guard?" She doubted passing a few tests would make everyone trust him, not after being a prisoner – even for what was, apparently, a short period of time.
"Probably awhile. He won't be walking around in chains, but someone will be with him." She nodded. Anyone could join up, provided they didn't have a criminal record. She wasn't so foolish to believe that that meant everyone in their ranks was safe, not that she'd ever felt threatened by any agent. Sometimes people were recruited – like she was – and a background check was, apparently, less important.
"He must have really made an impression on you." Angela observed. Even though his recruitment was… different, she was hard pressed to find anything to dislike from the man with a drawling southern accent – but she hadn't been in the field against him.
"He did." Gabriel agreed without elaborating. Angela knew there was a story there – obviously – but, apparently, she wasn't going to be told it. She had read the KIA reports a week before he had returned – he had lost three members to whatever it was he'd been doing or dealing with in America. There had been nothing she, in Zürich, could do for them – or the ten other gunshot wounds scattered through the team – except wait.
Her waiting had gained her a present in the form of a mystery named Jesse McCree.
"Well, I'm going to get back to my research, then." She'd lost hours of work time that she wanted to recuperate.
"After lunch. Jack and I'll meet you in the canteen." The doctor huffed another sigh but didn't argue as she turned to the elevator. She knew it would be pointless.
When she wasn't researching, she forced herself to practice in the gun range.
Angela stood in the range, pistol in hand and a set of ear protection. Before her was a target with the silhouette of a man, marked with target zones. She pointed the gun towards the upper left quadrant – the heart – released a breath, then squeezed the trigger.
A hole appeared in the target, significantly lower, but still within the silhouette – but nowhere near where a heart would be.
Angela blew out a breath. She knew she should spend more time here, but with duties assigned elsewhere it just never seemed to be that important – and then she was terribly disappointed in her ability when she finally found the time to practice. It made no sense for her to be disappointed, because even she knew that for any skill you needed to practice – often and regularly. Still, her lack of progress was disheartening.
She pointed the gun again. Fired. Another bullet too low, but it was still within the target. Fired. Too low, and now too far to the left.
A hand on her shoulder startled her, and she jumped, whirling. A second hand grabbed her gun hand, pushing both down and away before she hurt herself – or the vaguely familiar man at her shoulder.
"Whoa now! Easy!" After a moment Angela relaxed, and the man she recognized as McCree – who was now sporting a ridiculously out of place cowboy hat – released her completely and stepped back. She set the gun down on the table set between her and the target and slid off her ear protection.
"McCree." She hoped she didn't sound breathless after the mild fright he'd given her. Not only had his hand at her shoulder startled her, but she could have shot him – right here in Zürich base, and how would that look? "Can I help you?" Angela barely needed to move her eyes to spot the guard a few steps behind him – it seemed he wasn't off the leash yet. She was surprised he was even allowed in the shooting range, considering he was still under guard.
"I was just passin' by and I saw you in here." He explained. "Thought I might say hello." She arched an eyebrow. He just wanted to say hello, so he scared her half to death while she was holding a gun. While under guard. Of course.
"Why'd they give someone like you a gun, anyway?" McCree asked after a moment of silence, which gave away his real reason for approaching her: curiosity. She didn't blame him; many doctors didn't really have a need for weapons. Most of the doctors on Overwatch's staff weren't even cleared for combat – they wanted to be in hospitals or research labs, not shooting people.
"What do you mean, 'someone like me'?" He made it sound like an insult, phrasing it like that. She'd be more offended if it didn't feel rather spot-on. McCree put his hands up defensively.
"Now I didn' mean anythin' by that." The cowboy hurried to assure her. "It's just – wait, you are a doctor, right? You weren't just yankin' my chain?" Angela chuckled despite herself.
"Yes, I am a doctor." She confirmed. "I'm also the head of the medical division." If he was going to be a part of Overwatch, he might as well know what was already common knowledge, right? No one had told her she shouldn't tell him.
"You're th' what now?" He glanced between her and the – poorly shot – target. "And they gave you a gun? What d'ya need one of them for?" It was a fair point – one that the leadership core had stood behind up until they realized that she might actually be useful, or needed, sometimes.
"Well, I do go into the field on occasion." She made it sound like she'd been on dozens of missions instead of just the one, but he didn't need to know that.
"With shootin' like that?" McCree was looking at the target again. She knew it was bad – knew it – but he didn't have to say it with that tone. "Y'got a death wish, doc?"
"No, I do not have a death wish, McCree." The words should be patient, but instead were more exasperated than anything. Why did everyone act like she was going to fall over dead the moment she left this base? "My position is always as a medic – my marksmanship isn't exactly what I pride myself on." He shook his head.
"Not gonna pride yourself on much if y'get shot dead, now are ya, doc?" He stepped forward to press the button that switched the target out for a clean one. "Here, c'mon. Reload it." He gestured to the gun. When she hesitated, he made an impatient noise. "Look, I know a thing or two about shootin'. I'll give ya a few tips."
Well, she really couldn't do much worse.
She turned and reloaded the gun methodically before pulling her ear protection back into place. Once she was ready, she raised the gun up.
"Alright. Aim for the head." Angela shifted her aim to the appropriate spot. "Fire." He called out nine more shots, and all of them missed the mark – though at least they all hit the target somewhere.
"Okay, look." Casually, the cowboy plucked the weapon away with practiced hands. With almost contemptuous ease he dropped the magazine to clatter to the floor carelessly, racked the slide to make sure no bullets were left inside the barrel, and pointed it towards the target. Her eyes flicked over to his guard, who had tensed and dropped their hand to the gun on their hip. Odd that she didn't feel at all alarmed that McCree was holding her gun – she should, by all rights, even if it was completely empty. She'd only met him the one time, in her infirmary, and while she'd read over Dr. Port's assessment of him, while Gabriel seemed to trust him for whatever reason, that didn't mean he was safe.
"Pay attention, doc." The cowboy drew her out of her musings. His voice was the same casual drawl, but she noticed tension in his shoulders and the hard look in his eyes; Angela was certain he'd noticed the way she had been looking at the guard.
"I'm sorry. I'm listening." If he wasn't safe, it wouldn't do to upset him, would it? And if he was, well, then what was the harm? Besides, the gun wasn't loaded, so it would be fine – even if he probably was dangerous unarmed, too.
"Good. Y'aim the gun, right?" She nodded in agreement. "Right. But when you pull the trigger, your hands go down, jus' a little." He let the gun dip in his hands, before offering it back to her handle first.
"Don't reload it. Just aim." She stepped back into position and pointed the gun. "Good. Now, when you pull th' trigger, only your finger moves. Not your hands, not your arms, not anythin' else. Just your finger."
She worked with him for about an hour before she called it quits. He had been careful not to touch her or the weapon – in fact he kept a pointed, but small, distance between both – for the remainder of the impromptu lesson. She wasn't sure why, when he had started their conversation by doing both of those things. Perhaps it was out of politeness or because of the guard at their backs, but she had the feeling it was because he thought she felt threatened by him. Maybe she should be, but she found it hard to feel threatened by much when she was in the Zürich base – even during her training simulations for combat.
Her aim wasn't amazing – it never would be, considering she didn't have the time or inclination for that. Still, it didn't have to be amazing. A bullet, generally in any part of the body, would stop most enemies and that was all she really needed. She wasn't looking to kill anyone, after all.
She had to admit that he wasn't a bad teacher.
"I appreciate your help today, McCree." Angela told him as they walked out, the guard still a few feet behind them. At some point his hand had left the gun at his side, but she hadn't noticed when it was.
"'s my pleasure, ma'am. Let me know if y' want anymore pointers."
"I'll keep that in mind for next time." Her normal tutors were usually too busy running Overwatch – or training actual agents who needed to be more functional than she would ever be – so it wouldn't hurt to have someone else to look to.
"Good. We'll make a marksman outta you, jus' you wait." Angela laughed.
"I certainly hope not."
"You haven't signed up for any missions." Ana said as she led her towards the elevator so they could have lunch. "After all your fighting and training, too." The older woman glanced over at Angela's face, one eyebrow raised. "I wonder why that is."
"I've been busy lately. Besides, I can only go when one of you go – that limits my options dramatically." Angela demurred carefully. While what she'd promised to Gabriel wasn't a secret – not really – she found herself loathe to talk about it with the other two. At best she would be at the mercy of endless teasing and at worst they would read deeper into the promise than necessary.
"I should be available for one soon, though. I'm just tying up a few loose ends." A statement that was a bold-faced lie. Seeing how none of her researchers were working with her and Angela had been keeping her notes in German – a language she was pretty confident none of the others could speak – Ana would never know, and what Ana didn't know wouldn't hurt her.
"Is that so?" Ana asked, nodding. The reasoning was perfectly valid, of course. They had brought her on for her research expertise, after all – even if she had kicked up a fuss about battlefield training. "That's good. I'll make sure that we keep you in mind, then." Angela smiled over at the woman.
"I'd appreciate that, Ana." She was forced to say, even as she knew that there was a decent chance she'd still be remaining home.
"Can I ask you a question?" She asked when Gabriel strolled into her office around dinnertime.
"Yeah, what's up?" He said, standing in the doorway and waiting while she dutifully put aside her pen and paper. She leaned back in her chair to look up at him, making no move to rise. After a moment, he stepped in and closed the door, leaning his back against it.
"Are you purposefully avoiding going on missions?" He looked surprised at her question and made no indication that he was planning to answer. "It's been nearly three months since I managed to convince the three of you to let me on missions, since I promised to stay in Zürich if you weren't on the mission with me." Her arms crossed as she stared pointedly at him. "Either you're avoiding missions or it's something else." She raised an eyebrow instead of asking a second time.
"I'm not avoiding missions, Angela." He told her, sighing. "I haven't been needed on any missions, so I've been here. I did just get back barely a month ago, if you recall." Of course she did; he'd brought back the prisoner-turned-recruit. He gave her a look in return. "What's the big deal, anyway? It's not like you aren't busy here."
"I saw Ana today, and she was curious as to why I had abstained from missions, seeing how hard I fought to get approved for them. I wouldn't put it past you to avoid missions just to keep me safe." He laughed ruefully.
"I had considered doing just that." If looks could kill, he'd probably be dead. "But I can't afford to sit on the sidelines, so no chance there." He shook his head and met her glare unapologetically. "You'll have your chance, Angela, whether I like it or not." She sighed – she was a doctor; she exuded patience, but three months was a rather long time to wait.
"Alright, Gabriel. I believe you." She said after a long moment, rising. He shifted, moving away from the door so they could leave.
"So, you saw Ana today?" He asked conversationally, leading her towards the elevator so they could go eat.
"We went to lunch. Before that, I saw McCree – which was surprising." Gabriel glanced over at her, and she elaborated obligingly. "I was in the practice range. I didn't know he was allowed in there while under guard."
"He's not." Oh, of course he wasn't, and yet he'd hung about for an hour with her. One more question to add to her growing list about Jesse McCree. "What was he doing there?" There was some alarm in his voice, probably because this was the first he was hearing about their favorite – only – prisoner running around in places he shouldn't be.
"He gave me a couple of pointers. We were in there – with his guard, of course – for an hour." She looked up towards him worriedly. "I didn't know he wasn't supposed to be there. Nothing bad happened." Angela was hurried to assure him, omitting the fact that McCree had disarmed her at the very beginning of the lesson. While the cowboy had, apparently, broken a rule, he hadn't done anything else to be punished for during that time. Gabriel sighed and ran a hand over his head, obviously frustrated, before pressing the elevator call button.
"Jack's not gonna like that one bit." She didn't see Jack and Gabriel at odds over many things, but she had come to learn that McCree was a sticking point between the two. Oh, they didn't come out and tell her – they'd just say it wasn't her business, because it wasn't, not really – but she wasn't blind. She and Jack would be eating casually, and then his entire demeanor would change to a tense, watchful bulldog the moment McCree – and guard – walked into the room to eat alone in some corner. Gabriel was the exact opposite; he'd excuse himself and go chat casually with the cowboy for a few minutes before returning. Then there was the pointed comments between the two of them on the off chance they were all together – whether in the command center, canteen, or anywhere else.
There was nothing in the reports – the very few she had the authority to read, at least – that explained why this one man was the center of an ongoing argument between their two Commanders. It just was.
"Is McCree going to be… kicked out?" The phrasing wasn't right, but she couldn't think of a tactful way to ask. He was a prisoner – if he left, it would be to a prison somewhere. The doors to the elevator slid open as Gabriel shook his head.
"No." The resigned way he said it told her there was going to be an argument between him and Jack, but he seemed confident he'd win it. "But he's going to be in a lot of trouble." Well. There wasn't much to say about that.
"So. McCree gave you some pointers, then?" The words were more casual than the tension he was carrying, but she was willing to play along.
"Yeah." She shot him a mischievous look. "They helped better than yours did."
"Just because you're a terrible student doesn't mean that my advice wasn't good." He teased her. She gaped at him in indignation, before crossing her arms and turning to look at the elevator doors.
"I have it on excellent authority that I'm a great student." Angela told him primly. "You're just an awful teacher."
"I'll have you know that I've trained plenty of agents." He informed her, looking only slightly less tense, as the doors opened once more.
"Oh? It's a wonder that I haven't needed to patch more of them up, then." She replied, and then laughed at the indignant look on his face.
Gabriel finally accepted another mission three weeks later. They were heading to Venezuela; a factory had been captured by Talon. While it wasn't an Overwatch facility, it was a major biotic limb manufacturer in South America. It wasn't a large strike team – just her, Gabriel, and four others – but the estimated force occupying the facility didn't rate a larger team.
The flight was going to be a long one – unsurprising, considering the distance to South America from Switzerland – so it was unfortunate that she couldn't bring any of her research along with her, just in case it was lost and fell into the wrong hands. Instead, she was forced to bring along a book – or be bored for the entire flight.
She'd boarded, the Valkyrie suit carefully packed away – she wasn't going to wear it for the thirteen and a half hours it would take for them to get there, though she would have to change before they arrived. She was still dressed the part of a combat medic just in case, with all the tools necessary – including her pistol – attached to the belt she wasn't currently wearing. She had been one of the last to arrive – there were last minute instructions to give to Gloria and her research teams – but they should be leaving shortly. They were just waiting on Gabriel to arrive.
"Move over." Angela glanced up from what she was reading to see Gabriel standing in the aisle next to her. She glanced around the plane – certainly it wasn't terribly large, but there was plenty of space that wouldn't require her to move. Still, she obliged him and shifted seats so he could have the one she vacated.
"Ready?" He asked her as the plane began preparations for takeoff.
"If I didn't have everything I needed, do you think I'd have gotten on the plane?" She asked, willfully misunderstanding his question. He shot her an exasperated look.
"I meant for your first mission." She raised an eyebrow. "First sanctioned mission." He amended.
"Of course I'm ready." Angela replied easily. "It's not going to be anything like my actual first mission, so I'm sure I'll do fine."
"Don't get too cocky." He warned. "There's every chance that this mission goes south." He leaned back in his seat. "Don't forget about Naples – and what brought them to your infirmary." She bit her lip to keep from retorting, because the advice was sound.
"I'll be careful." She murmured instead.
"You're damn right you will be." He retorted, and she glanced sidelong at him before looking back down at the journal she'd been reading.
"What are you reading?" He asked, interrupting her a few minutes later once the plane leveled out. She closed her eyes momentarily with a sigh – she wasn't going to get anything done – and glanced back up at him.
"A medical journal. It has several articles and case reports on the use of biotic limbs that I'm interested in." She had high hopes for this particular journal; she was hoping that it would have information that would greatly improve her own research.
"Seriously?" His voice was teasing, and she rolled her eyes.
"Yes, seriously. I couldn't bring my research notes along – understandably – so I brought study material. It's for my research." She gave him another look. "You know, that other thing I do that isn't fixing you up."
"I'm vaguely familiar with the concept, yes," Gabriel replied, "seeing how I drag you away from it most nights." She smothered a laugh, but turned back to her journal; this time, he let her.
Many hours later, she was still engrossed in her journal. The flight had been rather uneventful – the other agents had kept mostly to themselves two rows back, and Gabriel had been reading… something. Angela hadn't asked what. Gabriel nudged her gently, and she glanced up briefly.
"You need to get some sleep." He whispered. She hadn't realized that it had gotten quiet – or darker – within the plane. The others were probably asleep – like she would be, were she actually one for keeping normal sleeping patterns.
"I can't." She whispered back, turning to the next page idly.
"What do you mean, you can't? You need to be rested, so you have to." He snapped back at her, voice still hushed. She glanced up at him, meeting his intensity with anxiety.
"There's too many people; I don't need everyone knowing I have nightmares – and what comes after." She whispered back, her words barely loud enough to reach his ears, even close as he was. His eyes widen and his face gentles.
Angela couldn't afford for anyone to catch her so vulnerable, couldn't risk losing the respect she had gained; it was bad enough Gabriel, a Commander, had stumbled on the secret of hers. She's supposed to be Dr. Ziegler, cool and collected and absolutely in charge, because at the end of the day it's her calls that will result in life and death, and she can't have anyone doubt her for even a single second. They can't think that she has a heart, that she cares absolutely too much, that every death – under her hands or halfway across the globe – cuts another piece of her soul away.
And, seeing how she was going on her first actual, sanctioned mission – which absolutely terrified her even as she had the overwhelming drive to go – she knew that there would be nightmares. She would dream about Gabriel getting shot and shooting Jack and watching Huang die because the mission had gone sour; that was what she was going into, after all – shooting and pain and death.
"I'll be right here, Angela." Gabriel whispered back. "I'll wake you up, first sign of a nightmare." She shook her head.
"You need to sleep too – almost more than I do. You're the Commander, you're in charge of this merry little expedition. You have to be well rested." She insisted, turning his own logic against him.
"Seeing how it's your job to keep us alive, you take precedence. Go to sleep. I'll wake you if I get tired, alright?" She sighed. It wasn't alright, but she knew he was right; she needed to sleep, because they'd probably be running straight into combat once they landed. She couldn't afford an error due to exhaustion, not when it was something so easily remedied.
"You promise you'll wake me?" Angela asked, even as she started to put the journal away.
"Of course I will." He assured her, and she nodded, leaning back into her seat that wasn't really comfortable and didn't give, not even a little, to close her eyes. She felt his eyes on her, and she fought not to squirm or peek; instead, she forced herself to blank her mind so that she could attempt to sleep.
"Wake up, Angela." His voice, which rumbled strangely in her ear, was accompanied by a sharp shake of her knee. Her eyes blinked open, confused momentarily at where she was. There was a loud humming noise and she was pressed against something warm and soft. She blinked, before registering who had spoken.
"Gabriel?" She murmured sleepily, blinking slowly, remembering that she was on a plane, that there were others around them, that he'd promised to wake her up – and here she was, waking up. Still, that didn't explain what she was leaned against. Carefully, she turned her head, to find that she'd practically buried herself against his side. Flushing a deep scarlet, she pulled away sharply – displacing the arm that had been carefully placed over her shoulders. "What–?" the word escaped her, much too loudly for the confined space.
"Christ, Angela, you're fine; calm down before you wake the whole damn plane." Gabriel said quickly, glancing away before she could tell if he was also blushing, putting up a hand before she could lay into him. "You fell asleep, and then decided I made a good pillow." He shrugged sheepishly. "'I didn't want to wake you, so I left you alone." He hesitated briefly before continuing. "Okay, I did move my arm, but only because you were putting it to sleep."
"You should have woken me." She insisted, terribly embarrassed.
"And wake you when you were actually sleeping for once? Never." His voice was teasing, but when she glanced towards him she saw that he was still sheepishly looking anywhere but at her. "Besides, you were asleep, Angela. It's fine." He glanced over at her momentarily, before yawning.
"I woke you because I need to sleep; far as I can tell you didn't have a nightmare." He told her, and she nodded gratefully. Her anxiety about the others around her may have suppressed the nightmares – for now – but she doubted it would last.
"Go to sleep, Gabriel." She whispered, and he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat. "I'll wake you if anything exciting happens."
Angela leaned down to grab the journal, but found the she couldn't concentrate; instead, she found herself watching the man sleeping next to her.
They had managed to get inside the factory, but they were under fire. Their team had been separated – and not by choice; Gabriel had strictly ordered them to stay together, but it just wasn't possible when you considered the lack of cover in the face of enemy guns. Angela was currently crouched inside a doorway behind one of their agents – she wasn't certain, but his name might be Ramirez – while he was firing at the enemy on the catwalk above them. Most of the enemy was above them, which made the lack of cover that much worse.
"Medic! Lewis is down!" The call came over the comms unit. Angela glanced out of her position, only to jerk back to avoid getting shot. Her hand reached up.
"What's your location?" She demanded, glancing up at the man shooting in front of her. His eyes were focused above – there was still an enemy up there, it seemed.
"He's under the conveyor belts on the left side." Angela bit her lip, thinking; she was holed up in this room that – she glanced around, ignoring the handful of workers cowering at the back of the room – was a death trap without any secondary exit, and she needed to get across the entire floor to reach him.
"We're under fire on the right side, shooter above." She reported, glancing out again when the gunfire ceased for a moment. If she could spot another agent she could fly out, but it would cause her to abandon the man she was currently paired with – not that she was doing him any good, but it would definitely make her feel terrible. "Can anyone clear a path?"
"Ramirez and I will create a distraction, doctor." Gabriel's voice responded. She glanced over at the man covering her again; guess his name wasn't Ramirez. "You two get out as soon as their attention shifts; it won't last long."
"Roger, Commander." Both she and the now-unnamed man at her right responded.
"We're going to make a break for that machine there," her current guardian told her, pointing. Angela glanced back at the people in the room.
"Stay back, and get the door shut when we're gone." Angela ordered them; with the gunmen above them and injured across the room, there wasn't much they could do for them at this point. If they stayed back, they shouldn't get injured or recaptured.
Gunfire lit up the main room. "Go!" The two of them sprinted for their target, eyes peeled for a shooter that might have them in their sights. To their right – and above, always above it seemed – Angela spotted an enemy agent raise their gun.
"Get down!" She shoved the man forward with one hand before throwing herself to the side, bullets filling the space they'd just occupied. Her heart was hammering – that was nearly the two of them, she was not cut out for this – but she got back on her feet and got behind the machine that had been their target. Moments later her partner was at her side again, clutching his gun.
From this position she could see Gabriel and what could only be Ramirez – how did she mistake the two men, they looked nothing alike – ducking into cover. At the far side, where the injured Lewis was, she saw movement – probably, hopefully, one of their own protecting him.
"I'm going to change positions," she quietly told the man hiding with her. "Watch out for yourself, alright?" He looked at her quizzically – all of the agents on this mission knew she was barely capable of protecting herself – but before he could speak, her hand was on her comm unit. "Commander, I need a clear visual on your position."
"Give me a sec, doc; I'm a little busy." His terse reply came in a few moments later. At her side, the man shot up at the enemy – a pained cry indicated that some of his bullets hit their mark. There shouldn't be too many more left, but until they were certain it was safe – for them and the remaining hostages that were upstairs – they had to act as if the enemy was present.
Most of the hostages had been recovered, funneling out through side rooms that they had cleared – but there were still many in the building. Those were the ones still forced to remain inside due to the violence – like the ones in the room she'd just recently vacated with her partner – but there were still many upstairs with the Talon operatives. It was only a matter of time before the enemy dragged them out – as shields or for ransom.
"Now, doc!" Staff in hand, Angela focused her gaze on the man who had rose from cover for a brief moment, pushing the gear to jump to his position. She burst out of cover, the gear dragging her along an invisible tether towards him. She was forced to stop a little more than halfway – he had to duck into cover, which forced the tether to drag her into some workstations before she canceled it. Angela crouched behind the workstation as bullets buried themselves in it. They'd spotted her – not surprising, seeing how big of a target the movement made her.
As soon as Angela spotted Gabriel, she jumped out of her position to rush to his, regardless of the bullets still sporadically firing towards her; for her trouble, a bullet buried itself into the back of the suit she was wearing – it didn't pierce the suit, fortunately, but it still would leave a sizeable bruise. She let the momentum drag her into a slide on the ground, shielding herself from the bullets that were still peppering his – and Ramirez's – position.
"Damn it, Ziegler." Gabriel snarled at her as she crouched behind the two men. "Don't be so damn reckless." He looked her over, but he saw that she wasn't bleeding; she realized he must have seen the shooter aiming at her and made sure he didn't see the bullet still lodged in the suit. She made a sound of affirmation without actually agreeing; like he said months ago, she'd take risks to help the wounded that he wouldn't.
"What's the name of the guy with Lewis?" She asked as they sat hidden on the killing floor. Gabriel glared at her – he knew what she was planning to do, and he could stop her, but they both knew he wouldn't, not when the danger was outweighed by the aid she could provide.
"That's Cooper; you left Robinson." Ah, both of their names started with R – not that it was any excuse for her to have mistaken them. Angela nodded at the information, and Gabriel peered out in their direction.
"Update on Lewis' condition?" Angela whispered into the comm.
"I'm bleeding pretty bad, doc." A new voice – presumably Lewis – cut in. "Cooper's covering me."
"Cooper, I need a visual on you now; I'm with the Commander and Ramirez." Angela ordered, looking in the vague direction that she knew they were in, watching for movement that signified the man she needed to reach.
"We're on the left side, ma'am." He reported, and she rolled her eyes.
"I need a visual – with my eyes." She clarified, as if the word "visual" wasn't obvious enough. She kept her eyes focused away from the two men that were whispering plans at her side. The gunfire had slowed, which led Angela to assume they were waiting for a better target, they were regrouping for a better attack, or they were getting the hostages out.
None of those options were good for them, but they couldn't dwell on it.
"Cover me, Commander." She interrupted, when she spotted agent Cooper. Before he could say anything, she'd darted to the side – for a better, more clear path – and started her jump.
It was impossible to move evasively when you were being dragged in a straight line, and since the enemy had learned of her ability with the last two jumps, it was unsurprising when she came under fire shortly after erupting from her cover. She glanced around sharply, looking for the person shooting at her, even as she heard suppressive fire coming from Gabriel's position.
She landed on her feet just before Cooper, who was watching her wide-eyed, and she shoved them back under cover as bullets followed her. Though the trip had felt like it had taken hours – she supposed that being shot at might skew ones' sense of time – it was only a minute or two since she had left Robinson.
"Where is he?" She asked; there were plenty of conveyor belts around them. Cooper pointed, and she quickly darted towards his position, trying to avoid getting shot. She crawled under the conveyor belt with him, stomach flat to the floor to accommodate the wings – there wasn't a lot of space here for her to work with – and examined his wound.
He'd been shot in the leg; judging by the holes in both sides it had passed through cleanly – which made her job that much easier. Quickly – and awkwardly – she pointed the staff at his body and press the trigger. The area around them lit up slightly with yellow, and Angela briefly hoped it wouldn't make them a bigger target, and the flesh began to knit together quickly. Not even ten minutes later his leg was patched up.
"Stay under cover – you can't afford to lose much more blood." She ordered the man, who nodded, before carefully wiggling back out from under the belt. The last thing she needed was to get tangled up in some wire – they'd never let her in the field again. Once she was out – and under proper cover – she glanced around, trying to take stock.
She spotted Gabriel and Ramirez making their way up the steps, towards where Talon had holed up. The enemy had seemed to pull back, so it seemed that Gabriel had decided to take the fight to them She spotted Robinson moving alone, getting the hostages they'd been trapped with out of the building during the lull in fighting. Cooper appeared at her shoulder.
"Commander wants the three of us to take the stairs," he pointed towards the ones in question, since there were three different sets, "and meet up with him." Angela nodded, gesturing for the men to lead. She wasn't a fighter and would be worthless leading the way.
It didn't take them long to reach the top of the stairs, which – aside from the Overwatch agents – was empty except for two dead bodies. There was one room between them and the other two; Cooper ducked inside to check it briefly before backing out, declaring it cleared. Lewis took point and Angela fell in behind Cooper, the three of them carefully approaching the other two. There was one last door, which they assumed the enemy was hidden behind.
"Lewis, Ziegler, you stay back. There should only be two left – a quick fight; we just have to find them." Angela nodded, keeping herself to the back of the group, Lewis just ahead of her. "Cooper, you'll go right; Ramirez and I will go left." The orders were hushed, so close to the door that held their enemies. "Avoid hitting the civilians, got it?"
Then they were bursting through the door that was, surprisingly, not barricaded. Angela stayed outside the room, shoulder pressed against one wall as Lewis moved carefully to peer inside. She couldn't see anything, but she heard no gunfire, no fighting.
"What's goi–" She began, when a footstep behind her had her turning, hand reaching for the pistol that was at her side. Her eyes registered two enemies as they pulled their triggers. There was nowhere for her to go, not with enemies ahead and Lewis behind. All she could do was flare the wings of her suit to try to protect the man behind her as the bullets hit their mark.
Her Valkyrie suit caught some of them – fulfilling its purpose – but at such close range it was nearly useless. She felt blood soak the front of her suit as she collapsed to her knees. However, even after being breached, her Valkyrie suit did its job. Except for the sharp, piercing pain of the bullets entering her, the suit managed to numb it to an acceptable level.
She lifted her shaking hands, feeling like she was moving through wet sand – god it was like her nightmares come to life, only this time she was the patient – as she tried to press them to her wounds, to stop the bleeding. Her chest, once Overwatch blue, was now darkening with her blood. From this angle, she couldn't tell how many times she was hit – how bad it was – but she knew that she needed surgery.
"Angela!" It could have been seconds or hours, but suddenly Gabriel was in her face. She hadn't even heard the firefight around her through the roaring in her ears, but he wouldn't have put his guns down if it wasn't safe so the enemy had to be dead. She smiled blearily at the man, knowing that the expression was wrong for the situation but incapable of anything else. She'd never seen him look so frantic – not even when he'd begged her not to go into the field. Served her right for not listening.
"Did they pass through?" Angela asked him, the Valkyrie suit keeping her coherent enough to do her job. He looked at her, confusion plain on his face. "The bullets, Gabriel." She was past the point of decorum, of calling him his title, and seeing how she was filled with bullets she doubted he cared too much either. Gabriel shifted to look her over for exit wounds, before shaking his head.
"Pretty sure they're still in there." He told her gruffly, and she sighed. While that meant they hadn't passed through her to Lewis, it did make caring for her wounds that much harder.
"How're the others?" She asked suddenly, as if she wasn't slowly dying before him. "Lewis? Is he okay?" He had to be okay – she'd done her best to shield him from the danger, but she knew that her slim frame only had a small chance of keeping him completely safe – and he'd already lost too much blood. She tried to twist in Gabriel's hold – when did he start supporting her weight? – to try to find the agent in question.
"Stop moving, Angela." He snapped at her. "Lewis is fine – he was able to take cover." Relief coursed through her. She wasn't sure if he was safe before she'd turned, or if she'd bought him precious seconds to move to safety, but it didn't really matter because he was fine.
"You need to worry about yourself, Angela. Transport should be here soon, and we'll get you a doctor." Angela nodded, trying to ignore the sudden vertigo that the movement caused. "Where are your bandages?" He asked, bringing her attention back to the wounds in her chest instead of the agents in her care. She needed to carry some, because the staff wouldn't work on all wounds – like the ones she had.
"My satchel." He reached over and grabbed the bag at her hip. "You need to take the suit off." She told him, licking her lips. She knew that once it came off, she'd feel every bit of the pain that was being suppressed. "Wrap the wounds tightly, pressure is important." She ordered him. Hopefully, if he wrapped it too tightly, they'd get her to a doctor before any permanent damage was done – but she'd rather it be too tight than not tight enough.
"How do I take this damn thing off you?" He demanded, looking over the Valkyrie suit. She knew that, if necessary, he'd tear the thing to pieces to get it off her. Quickly, she instructed him through the straps and fasteners to take it off her.
Once it was disengaged, she gasped sharply against the incredible pain that rolled over her. Her eyes dropped unbidden down to her chest, and she saw three entry holes scattered across her body. Suddenly, she couldn't control her breathing – this was happening to her, she was shot, she was bleeding out, and she was the medic with no one to care for her. Gabriel was right, she was going to die, and it was all because of her stubbornness and pride.
"You're going to be fine." Gabriel murmured, trying to comfort her – but his words were nothing against the weight of her panic. "Angela, calm down. Breathe." He gave her a sharp shake – one that, as a medical professional, she'd never recommend – that jarred her into taking a sharp, deep breath. "Stay with me, Angela." He ordered. Angela nodded shakily.
Angela shut her stinging eyes and focused on breathing. She felt Gabriel moving against her, pulling the bandages across her chest tightly to stem the bleeding.
It was an agony that seemed to last an eternity, made worse by Gabriel's rough bandaging skills. Finally he finished, tying them off so they'd stay on her body. She looked down again, seeing the bandages already staining red due to the unrestrained bleeding, and shuddered.
"You're going to be fine." Gabriel insisted a second time, one hand firmly at the wounds to try to stymie the blood that wouldn't stop coming.
"Commander, helicopter's here." Lewis's voice suddenly sparked to life in her ear, startling her. She'd forgotten about the others after he'd confirmed they were safe. At least his voice meant that Gabriel hadn't given her a comforting lie to calm her.
"Roger. One of you come get the doctor's gear." Gabriel lifted Angela up into his arms, causing her to cry out with pain. "I know, I know. I've got you." He murmured soothingly, but he didn't pause, carrying her away from the bloody scene. She bit her lip, trying to ignore the pain each step sent arcing through her, and buried her face in his chest as tears streaked her cheeks.
Gabriel briefly passed her to another – she wasn't sure who, she was too far gone in her pain – so he could climb into the helicopter. She was handed back over, and then he was sitting carefully with her nestled in his lap. As soon they brought her gear, specifically her staff, to the helicopter, they headed for Watchpoint: Santa Marta in Colombia.
"Just hold on a little longer for me, Angela." Gabriel murmured, bringing his lips close to her ear so she could hear him over the engine. It was only then, as they were in the air heading for her salvation, that she passed out.
AN: Fun fact: I checked the approximate timeline and, plus or minus a week), Angela is shot on her one year anniversary. Definitely didn't plan that, but oof.